


1000 Kisses: #12 Attempting to Sneak Out at 4 AM

by Morgan_Elektra



Series: 1000 Kisses [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Bottom Draco, Boys Kissing, Denial, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, HP: EWE, Lube, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Present Tense, Rimming, Sleepy Sex, Sneaking Out, Top Harry, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7654549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Elektra/pseuds/Morgan_Elektra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is made up of millions of moments. Relationships are made up of thousands of kisses. Each one is its own story.</p><p>#12 - Harry pays a late night visit to Draco's flat and is unsure of his welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1000 Kisses: #12 Attempting to Sneak Out at 4 AM

**Author's Note:**

> This series will be an on-going one, consisting of shortish vignettes of Harry and Draco's relationship, all centered around a kiss. Some happy. Some sad. Some momentous. Some fleeting. In no particular order. I like to imagine Harry and Draco sitting together somewhere and recounting (and re-counting) their kisses... all while I gleefully record them. Think of the numbers as the order they're recalled in by them, but I'm relating them as I choose.
> 
> The ultimate goal is to write all 1000... but I don't know how long that will take! (I am going to *try* to post once a week, but I can't guarantee anything.)
> 
>  
> 
> Inspired by the poem 'Out of Catullus' by Richard Crashaw (which is essentially a translation of Catullus 5)
> 
>  
> 
> Come and let us live my Deare,  
> Let us love and never feare,  
> What the sowrest Fathers say:  
> Brightest Sol that dies to day  
> Lives againe as blithe to morrow,  
> But if we darke sons of sorrow  
> Set; o then, how long a Night  
> Shuts the Eyes of our short light!  
> Then let amorous kisses dwell  
> On our lips, begin and tell  
> A Thousand, and a Hundred, score  
> An Hundred, and a Thousand more,  
> Till another Thousand smother  
> That, and that wipe of another.  
> Thus at last when we have numbred  
> Many a Thousand, many a Hundred;  
> Wee’l confound the reckoning quite,  
> And lose our selves in wild delight:  
> While our joyes so multiply,  
> As shall mocke the envious eye.

 

✨

  
  


It’s a terrible idea. Harry should just go home; he knows he should. Or better yet, go back up and get a few hours kip on one of the uncomfortable cots specifically for that purpose, like Ron. It’s after midnight; he’s dirty and exhausted from the raid on Hyde’s warehouse. He’s got reams of paperwork to fill out in the morning.

 

But when it’s his turn to step into one of the fireplaces in the Atrium, Harry’s heart beats double time and instead of “Grimmauld Place,” he says, “Rose Terrace.”

 

The words tingle on his lips. It’s like a spell, one only he knows. 

 

And then the flames roar and his stomach turns, because what if it’s not? What if he’s one of many and one of the others is there right now? He’s never just shown up before…

 

He stumbles a step forward as the brick fireplace spits him out, breath caught in his throat, his trainers sliding on the smooth tile.

 

Faint white light drifting in from the streetlights outside illuminates the spacious bed that is the centerpiece of the large room, and Harry’s heart starts to beat again when he realizes its occupant is alone. Draco sprawls in the middle of the mattress on his belly, arms wrapped around his pillow, a dark blue sheet barely clinging to the curve of his spectacular arse. He snores softly, his bare back rising and falling with slow, even breaths.

 

Harry toes off his shoes, his thundering heart sending his blood on a dizzying rush through his veins. Desire grips him by the throat, making it hard to breathe. To think. He shrugs out of his robes and peels off his shirt, letting them both drop to the floor.

 

He kicks free of his jeans and climbs onto the bed in his pants and socks, his cock already hard and throbbing.

 

Draco stirs, turning his head on the pillow when the mattress shifts under Harry’s weight, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Harry drags the sheet down and off, tossing it away to reveal Draco’s pale nakedness. He swallows a groan at the sight of Draco’s long, alabaster legs spread on the navy sheets. The left one is bent slightly at the knee, revealing a glimpse of Draco’s soft bollocks.

 

Saliva floods Harry’s mouth with a savage pang.

 

He skates the tip of his fingers down the line of Draco’s spine, his hand trembling with desire. Draco hums into his pillow, his shoulders shifting, back curving toward the touch. But he’s still not awake, and Harry needs him to be. Needs him… present.

 

Unable to resist, Harry presses his palms into those tantalizing divots on either side of Draco’s spine and wraps his fingers around his sides. He bends forward, drawn like a magnet to true north, but pauses, his mouth hovering above the pale curve of Draco’s buttocks. His skin smells warm, musky, sweet. The downy blond hairs that dust Draco’s skin look silver in the light from the window. Harry’s uneven breath ruffles them.

 

Again, Draco arches into the hold.

 

“Mmmm, Potter.” His voice is rough and thick with sleep. It makes Harry’s head spin, both the timbre and the sound of his name on Malfoy’s tongue. His, not someone else’s. 

 

The next words carry more than a hint of Malfoy’s trademark smirk. “Don’t be a tease.”

 

Harry has the sudden urge to do just that, to take his time and lick every inch of creamy skin from Draco’s bare nape to the tips of his skinny toes. It feels strange and perverse. They have (mostly) stopped accosting each other on Ministry property, taken this thing they’re doing here to the enormous bed in Draco’s Soho flat, but they don’t do slow. At least, they haven’t before.

 

Draco lifts his hips again, his left arm sliding under him, and the guttural groan that spills into the shadowed room as he curls his fingers around his own cock makes Harry’s prick twitch.

 

They’re not going to do slow tonight either.

 

He can see the muscles in Draco’s back and arm rippling and tensing. He remains in place a moment longer, eyes riveted on the motion of Draco’s bicep as he plays with himself. He exhales a shuddering breath. Draco gasps and twitches.

 

“Ahh! Fuck, Potter, if you’re just going to watch—”

 

Harry silences him with a nip to one smooth buttock, earning a gasp from Draco.

 

“Shut it, Malfoy,” he growls against Draco’s spine.

 

He swings his leg over, repositioning himself between Draco’s spread thighs, pushing them open wider with his knees. Draco rolls his hips, his pillow muffling his choked moan.

 

“If you want to shut me up, you had  better do something-ah!”

 

Harry chuckles and repeats the wet swipe of his tongue between the firm globes of Draco’s arse. He uses his broad thumbs to pull them apart and pays extra attention to the puckered, pink satin skin of Draco’s hole.

 

He never did this before Draco. Rimming was something he fantasized about only. But Draco isn’t afraid of anything, not when it comes to sex, and his devil-may-care confidence liberates Harry.

 

Draco tastes faintly of the orange soap he uses and clean, salty skin.

 

He laps and sucks at the warm, furrowed flesh; the wet, smacking sounds his lips and tongue make are loud and obscene in the quiet room. Draco pants and grunts, pressing back against Harry’s mouth. He can feel the ring of muscle flutter against the flat of his tongue. 

 

When he wriggles the tip inside Draco, he’s rewarded with an honest-to-god whimper.

 

It makes Harry’s cock throb almost painfully. He pushes deeper and then withdraws, dragging his mouth up Draco’s spine. Draco’s muscles are tense with his own desire. He writhes under Harry as Harry slides up him.

 

When his cock brushes the saliva-slick crease of Draco’s arse, Harry groans and presses his forehead hard against Draco’s shoulder. He uses his right forearm to brace his weight and grips Draco’s hip with the other hand, pulling him tight against his aching shaft.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Harry’s not even sure if the expletive came from him or Draco because his blood is pounding in his head and chest and cock and Draco feels so fucking good.

 

He presses his hips down, sliding himself through the warm, slippery valley between Draco’s buttocks. His mouth is wet and open against Draco’s nape, his shoulder blade. He licks at Draco’s skin, the sleep-musky flavor of him setting Harry on fire.

 

Draco’s free hand grazes his shoulder. He slides long fingers into Harry’s messy hair, fisting the thick locks, pulling Harry harder against him. He arches his back and does a sort of slithering thing with his hips that makes the edges of Harry’s vision go white.

 

His fingers dig into Draco’s hip hard enough that he might be leaving bruises, and he knows he’s grunting and practically gnawing at Draco’s shoulder and humping him like a beast, but Harry’s lust is single-minded. He just needs so much. Needs release. Needs Draco—

 

“Someone—yessss!—is feeling—mmmm—in charge—ah! Hah-had a successful raid—fuck—did we?”

 

He slides his mouth up to the tender spot just under Malfoy’s ear, the one he discovered is especially sensitive, and licks at it.

 

“Stop. Bloody. Talking.”

 

Draco laughs, though the sound is breathy.

 

Of course Malfoy knows about the raid, bloody Unspeakable. Harry has no clue what the pointy blond git does on Level Nine all day, but Draco always seems to know exactly what the Aurors are up to at any given time.

 

Harry sucks at the skin of Draco’s throat with a growl and grinds his hips down against Draco’s arse. Draco’s fingers tighten painfully in his hair and his body shudders.

 

“Damn it, Potter, you’d better not leave a mark!”

 

Which, of course, only makes Harry suck harder. He takes Draco’s earlobe between teeth and tugs. His skin practically vibrates with pleasure. His bollocks are already tight with desire. When the head of his cock slides over Draco’s hole, Harry groans.

 

Draco’s shoulders lift; his neck bows.

 

“Get the… in the bedside table. Get the lube.”

 

He knows just where it is, in the shallow drawer beside a sleek black dildo and a vibrating plug Harry wants very much to ask about but hasn’t worked up the courage to yet. He fumbles the small glass phial, his hands shaking, and sits back on his socked heels. He’d laugh, but his head is full of the taste and scent of Draco. His cocks pulses, standing out from his abdomen, flushed dark and glistening in the faint light.

 

While he struggles with the little cap, Draco pulls his knees up underneath himself. His long, lean thighs quiver, the muscles taut. His toes curl, the soles of his feet pink and vulnerable.

 

Harry cups one cheek of Draco’s arse, pulling him open, baring that sexy little hole. With the other, he tips the phial, pouring warm, slick lube down into Draco’s crack. Thick rivulets drip down over his bollocks.

 

“Mmmm.” Draco purrs his approval, long white fingers stretching back to snake over his tender sack. When his hand returns to his cock, Harry can hear the squelch as he fucks his fist.

 

He has to wrap his own fingers around the base of his prick then and grit his teeth, because the sight of Draco arse up in the middle of the bed, legs spread, stroking his own cock, just about undoes him. But he wants to be inside Draco, feeling the hot, satin slickness of him squeezing his dick.

 

After a moment, he rubs the pad of his thumb in a circle around the tight ring of Draco’s hole. It contracts and relaxes as he pushes in, making Draco groan deep in his chest. He shoves backwards, forcing Harry’s thick digit deeper.

 

“Jesus God, Malfoy.”

 

Harry withdraws his thumb, sliding his middle finger into Malfoy instead. This time they both moan. He can’t believe how hot Draco is inside, how tight. And when he strokes his finger deep, massaging those slick satin walls, how soft.

 

He loves that, the silken pliancy inside Draco, who is all sharp tongue and angles most of the time. Not often does anyone get a chance to see, to feel, the tender parts of him. The downy blond hairs on the small of his back and his bollocks, the smooth skin on his inner thighs and his full lips… and here, deep inside him.

 

“Potter!” Despite the way he moans it, the name still has an edge to it.

 

Harry gives him another finger, scissoring them, heart thumping at the hiss Draco emits. There’s still a small flicker of doubt that he’s doing this wrong, being too rough. As if he senses this, Draco rocks backwards on his knees, fucking himself on Harry’s pumping fingers.

 

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his bicep flexing as he strokes his cock. “Perfect, Harry. Perfect. Give me more.”

 

The words make Harry light-headed, but he does as requested, adding a third finger. He releases his cock and runs his other palm up the back of Draco’s thigh. He kneads Draco’s arse cheek, pulling it so he can watch his glistening fingers pump into Draco’s stretched hole.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he blurts, blood burning in his chest and cheeks, pulsing underneath his skin.

 

The room has grown almost uncomfortably warm. Sweat prickles along Harry’s upper lip and under his arms. But if Draco hears him, his only response is a long, drawn out, “Nnnnnnnnn!” as he swivels his hips.

 

Harry slides his fingers free, brushing down of the soft sack of Draco’s bollocks. His whole body shakes with desire as he pours more lube into his palm and slicks it onto his cock. He barely caresses the length of his shaft, just enough to make sure he won’t hurt Draco, no more. 

 

His thighs tremble as he knee-walks forward to rub the sensitive head of his cock against Draco’s twitching hole.

 

When the murmur of Draco’s voice uttering a protection spell registers, Harry pauses. He shakes his head, stunned he could have forgotten something so important. Draco reaches back with his free hand, the tips of his fingers skimming Harry’s thigh.

 

“S’okay. We’re… you’re good. Perfect. Do it. Fuck me, Harry.”

 

Harry feels a little twist in his chest at the words. A combination of the breathless excitement he always feels when they’re together like this and a twinge of something else… the fleeting thought that even now, Draco is in control.

 

But the pulse of lust is a drumbeat within him, too powerful to ignore a moment longer.

 

He presses forward, groaning at the feel of that tight ring of muscle easing to allow him in. Harry keeps steady, slow, gliding in an inch, two. He wants to thrust, hard and deep, bury himself inside the incredible tightness and heat. 

 

But he doesn’t. He waits until he feels the slight easing of the tension in Draco’s muscles, a sign that the worst of the stinging burn has faded.

 

Then…

 

“Ah, gods!” He slides the rest of the way in.

 

His heart feels as if it will beat out of his chest. Beads of sweat track a tickling path down his belly to the dark tangle of his pubic hair. Harry is momentarily arrested by the contrast in their coloring, his skin so brown compared to Draco’s paleness.

 

And then Draco shifts, his thighs flexing, his bollocks rubbing against Harry’s. Draco’s fingernails scratch the side of Harry’s hip, seeking purchase, but he can’t reach. He gives up trying and uses his hand to brace himself instead.

 

Warm, slippery fingers graze Harry’s bollocks, sending a spike of pleasure straight up his spine.

 

His whole body contracts with it, and then relaxes. He pulls out and thrusts back in, deep, staring down to watch his cock glide in and out of Draco’s arse. His hole is stretched taut, dark pink and glistening. The muscles in his back, hips, thighs, and arse ache with each flex, still sore from the duel earlier, but the sweet heat of desire thrumming in his veins makes that unimportant.

 

“That’s, yes, oh fuck! Perfect, Potter!” 

 

Draco lets go of his cock and props himself on both forearms, slamming himself backwards with a breathless grunt of pleasure every time Harry thrusts. Harry wraps his hands around Draco’s narrow hips, his fingers slippery. He holds tight and drives himself into Draco over and over and over.

 

The way Draco’s body grips him is… Harry doesn’t have words. Being with Draco is better than anything he’s ever felt before, and that’s terrifying and exhilarating.

 

It’s the reason he came here tonight instead of going home.

 

Pleasure pulses through his veins, his nerves, his skin. It zings from the base of his spine up into his skull and back again. It swells and coils in his gut. Even his scalp tingles. And his cock… God, his cock is in heaven. He slides a hand up the warm, smooth, sweat-slicked surface of Draco’s back and grips his shoulder, pulling him back harder and tighter.

 

The bed creaks beneath them, and the room fills with the sounds of their moans and ragged breath and the flat smack of Draco’s toned arse slamming into Harry’s muscled abs.

 

Harry leans forward, sliding his free hand down Draco’s thigh, feeling the flexing muscles. He strokes back up and in, grazing Draco’s bollocks and then wrapping his fingers around Draco’s on his cock.

 

Draco stiffens, a low moan vibrating through him. His body jerks and writhes. He clenches around Harry, squeezing Harry’s cock in a grip of molten silk. Harry can feel his inner muscles rippling around him, milking his length.

 

But it’s the feel of Draco’s come pouring over their fingers that pushes Harry over the edge.

 

“Draco!”

 

The deep, driving pace of his hips becomes erratic, stuttering, as pleasure tightens and then explodes within him.

 

Harry feels the veins on the side of his neck and his temples throb, and his cock pulses in time with his racing heart as he plunges into Draco, burying himself completely, hips jerking. He feels as if he empties himself completely into the other man, until he is nothing but a husk. Delicate and hollow.

 

It takes a long time for Harry to come back to an awareness of anything other than his own body.

 

He is still pressed against Draco’s back, his cheek stuck to Draco’s skin with sweat. Draco is practically sitting on Harry’s thighs; his upper body sprawled on the bed beneath him. Both their arms are pinned to the bed by their combined weight.

 

Harry can feel the thump of Draco’s heart, could probably hear it if he wasn’t still breathing so hard.

 

After several long moments, once their hearts begin to slow, and their breath returns to normal, Draco shifts under him.

 

“Off.”

 

He withdraws carefully before collapsing to his side with a long sigh. Now that the clawing need has been sated, replaced with delicious languor, Harry is starting to feel every minute of his long, trying day.

 

They began the stake out of Hyde’s warehouse before dawn, wanting to catch the witch as she accepted a shipment of black market potions ingredients and magical creatures. It had taken so long, well past the noon drop off their intelligence suggested, that Robards had considered pulling them.

 

But Harry had a hunch that their informant was double-crossing them, so he sent Collinsport and Dunmore back to the Ministry. Sure enough, four hours after they left, the shipment arrived.

 

Perhaps he should have told the other team what they were doing, but he and Ron had handled things just fine. They were both a bit banged up from dueling Hyde and her lovers/accomplices, but it had all turned out right in the end.

 

He yawns so wide his jaw cracks and blinks around the dim room, only just realizing Draco has gotten up when he feels the magic of a cleaning spell tingle over his skin as Draco slides back into bed. Draco’s white blond hair is a tousled mess, sticking up from his forehead. His yawn is nearly as big as Harry’s as he settles back against his pillow and draws the sheet back up to his waist.

 

“Pleasure as always, Potter,” he says through his yawn, the corner of his mouth curling up. “Do come again.”

 

In the moonlight, his pale irises glitter silver. He blinks slowly, his eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. They’re already sliding closed before Harry can speak. His cheeks are rosy pink, and Harry can see the dark reddish-purple circle he left high on Draco’s throat.

 

“Right,” Harry replies, trying to muster an ounce of energy. “I’ll just go… in a minute.”

 

“Mmmm.”

 

Another yawn stretches Harry’s jaw. He reaches his arms over his head and extends his legs, arching his back until it cracks. Then, he collapses back against the mattress with a heavy sigh. Beside him, Draco’s breath has already deepened, evened out.

 

The room is warm and quiet, the bed soft. And Harry is sated and so, so tired.

 

It feels as if he just closes his eyes for a moment, from one blink to the next, but the room is darker than it was, the light coming through the window fainter and from a different angle. Harry jerks upward onto his elbows, bleary-eyed and groggy.

 

Draco is on his side, his back to Harry, the light ruffle of his breathing making it clear he’s asleep.

 

Harry’s glasses are smudged, since he never took them off, and he has no clue what’s the time, or where his wand is. Probably still in his jeans pocket somewhere on the floor. His pants are still around one ankle.

 

He moves slowly, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye as he sits up and slides the boxers back up his legs.

 

It was only a little nap, surely. No more than an hour at most. Probably closer to a half an hour. It doesn’t really count as sleeping over. Which they have never even discussed. They always come to Draco’s flat, never Grimmauld, by unspoken mutual agreement. And Harry always leaves afterwards.

 

He will have to make do with the short nap until he can get home to his own bed. And he’s not going to dwell on how much comfier Draco’s big mattress is.

 

Eyes still on Draco, he slides gingerly to the edge of the bed. He tests the floor before putting his weight on it, unable to remember if Draco’s bedroom floor is very creaky. He’s used to the one at his place, that sounds like an old woman sighing with practically every step.

 

But no, Malfoy’s floor doesn’t do anything so uncouth.

 

Even so, Harry steps extra carefully. He squints into the gloom, searching for the garments he shed so hastily upon arrival. He finds his jeans near the foot of the bed, nearly tripping over them. It’s a bit of a struggle to get the legs turned right side out in the dark, but he eventually manages and tugs them on.

 

He fishes his wand from the pocket and murmurs a quick cleaning spell on his glasses, jerking at the little sizzle of magic. His gaze darts to Draco, but his form remains still and quiet.

 

Next, he locates his shirt and robes. The shirt is easy, since it’s white, and the robes are nearby. He pulls the tee over his head, not bothering to check if it’s inside out or not, and drapes the robes over his arm.

 

There’s no way he’s going to attempt to leave by floo, so he’ll just have to walk to an apparition point. There’s one at the end of the road, if memory serves.

 

If he can only find his shoes…

 

Harry manages to stub his toe on… well, air, so far as he can tell, though it hurts like hell. It throbs, and he has the urge just to sit down on Draco’s bedroom floor, lean against the wall and sleep. Just for a little while. Surely he can wake up before Draco. Harry’s willing to bet Draco is a late sleeper.

 

With a sigh, he rubs the worst of the pain from his foot and finally locates his trainers. He’s managed to kick them each in different directions. One is half underneath the bed.

 

He flicks a look up at Draco. He can’t see much of his face from his position crouched near the footboard, but it seems as if his eyes are still closed. His breathing still sounds deep and even. He hasn’t woken. 

 

No need for him to know Harry took a little nap.

 

Harry hooks his shoes over his fingers and tiptoes toward the stairs. Once he’s down on the second floor, he can put on his trainers without worrying about them squeaking on the tile and waking Draco. 

 

The sleepy drawl cuts through the shadows, freezing Harry in place.

 

“Get back in bed, you prat. You’re about as stealthy as a herd of hippogriffs, and I’ve got work early in the morning.”

 

Harry can’t speak. His throat has closed up tight. He coughs to clear it, but it doesn’t work. His heart thumps a rapid staccato against his ribs. He knows he should think about this, probably refuse. But he’s exhausted and Draco said ‘bed’.

 

He decides to worry about the ramifications later. After a good few hours rest.

 

It only takes a minute to undo all the work he did, shed his shirt and shoes and jeans, fold his glasses on the bedside table and crawl back into the soft, warm, bed that smells of Draco… and now sex and him, too. Harry lies on his back, shifting to get comfortable under the soft top sheet.

 

Draco rolls toward him and he can feel the heavy weight of his gaze, but he daren’t look over. His cheeks are burning.

 

“Er…”

 

Beside him, Draco sighs, slides closer. He pushes Harry’s arm up, out of the way, and slots himself against Harry’s side, tangles their legs together. Arranges Harry like one might a large pillow, to his satisfaction.

 

Harry’s not sure how long he’ll be able to maintain the position, but it’s surprisingly comfortable.

 

And then Draco tilts his head and brushes his mouth against Harry’s. His lips are warm and supple. They move against Harry’s languidly, parting slightly to allow a hint of tongue, but Draco keeps the kiss shallow and sleepy and soft.

 

When he draws back, his eyes are barely open, his mouth moist and curled in a pleased smirk.

 

“Goodnight, Potter.”

 

Harry can only blink, cough, manage a rough, “‘Night, Malfoy.”

 

Then, Draco Malfoy lays his head on Harry’s chest, stretches one long, thin, pale arm across his chest, and snuggles against him. His fingers twine absently through the dark curls adorning Harry’s pectorals.

 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Draco says, voice sharp. “This is just for tonight, so I can get some rest without you bumbling around in the dark.”

 

“Mmmhmm.” Harry is sure he’s too tired to have any ideas at all, but even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t know what to think about this turn of events.

 

Draco smothers a yawn against Harry’s shoulder. 

 

“Good job you’re an Auror and not a burglar. You’d be lousy at it. How d’you manage to sneak up on criminals sounding like Hagrid in a china shop?”

 

The bed is comfortable and Draco is warm against him and Harry has maybe one brain cell still awake and working. He curls an arm around Draco and strokes the smooth skin of his back. It feels like silk under his palm.

 

“Mostly ‘m not sneakin’. More hiding an’ then jumping out.”

 

Draco rubs his cheek against Harry’s chest hair. “Ahh. That explains it, then.”

 

“Malfoy?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Sleep now?”

 

“Excellent idea, Potter.”

 

He presses his mouth to Harry’s skin just below his clavicle in what feels like a kiss. Harry pulls him closer, lips skating over the cool silk of his hair. Draco hums.

 

Harry’s last thought as warm, welcome blackness drifts over him is that this is so much better than a stiff cot and the sound of Ron’s snores.

 

Excellent idea, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [Gweniegrl18](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gweniegrl18/pseuds/Gweniegrl18) for suggesting the idea for this one!
> 
> And, as always, follow me [@deliciouslystickypersona](https://deliciouslystickypersona.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr and if you're interested in beta-ing, drop me a line!


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